The Worst Winter
by Belfast Docks
Summary: Stuck at Mona Castle during Yuletide, Eilonwy is forced to engage in celebrations she doesn't feel a part of, and reflects on the person she misses the most. Eilonwy/Taran.


**Author's Note:** I originally wanted to write a second part to this story from Taran's POV, but I'm afraid it wouldn't be any happier than the first part! This really came out rather depressing and angsty. I may yet still write a second half with Taran's thoughts...it just depends on if my Muse strikes me the right way. I'm afraid if I wrote from Taran's POV though, I might have to bump the rating... *wince*

(Utter Randomness: My favorite part of this one was writing Dallben. I couldn't help snickering as I tried to get inside his head.)

**Second Note:** I ended up tweaking this a bit after I originally posted it. I am notorious for not proofreading carefully enough! I had it in my head that Caw visited Eilonwy at Mona during her time there, but that was an assumption on my part from not having re-read the books recently. *hides* In all actuality, I don't think Eilonwy was aware Taran was traveling until she returned to Caer Dallben, so this piece isn't quite exactly as accurate as it should be! My deepest apologies!

**Third Note:** The amazing CompanionWarrior was inspired to draw this AWESOME fanart of Eilonwy after reading this story (take out the spaces, because FFnet won't allow actual links): saeriellyn . deviantart art / Firelight / 419567968

CW's works are so amazing and so real to me that I typically mistake them for Lloyd's own and use facts from her stories without realizing they aren't Lloyd's. Like Coll having a wife. *sheepish* She was nice enough to let me keep that in this story though, and I am really grateful that she was flattered instead of annoyed with me!

~BD

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**The Worst Winter**

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The massive piece of driftwood burning brightly within the gigantic hearth was an unusual sight, to be sure. Eilonwy had grown quite accustomed to Coll's sturdy, thick, oaken logs during the Yule season, but the twisting, smooth shapes of a tree tumbled by heavy surf was oddly beautiful.

And yet, at the same time, something about the flames licking upwards and curling about the gnarled branches, combined with the stinging heat, made her eyes water and her mind distantly recall something unpleasant: the events that had occurred only a few months prior.

She shivered, not from cold, and turned away from the hearth in frustration...only to face another sight that she couldn't decide if she liked or not.

The Great Hall of Mona Castle was decorated lavishly, really too much so. At Caer Dallben, Yule decorations consisted of fir branches lining the mantelpiece and a small fir tree in one corner, draped with strings of winterberries. Simple, but soothing and peaceful. Nothing like the massive fir she was gazing at now, which was adorned with thousands of tiny, flickering candles and garish silk ribbons in an array of shimmering colors. The ladies and gentlemen throughout the huge hall were also dressed in their finest, and with a pang of aching homesickness, Eilonwy knew that she much preferred Dallben in his old robes, Coll in his heavy wools and leathers, and...

She stiffened slightly as a group of young men laughed loudly at a jest nearby. All were lanky and thin, a clear sign that they had never done any sort of labor in their lives, and their clothes were perfectly stitched, without patches or scuffs or dust. They were all drinking goblets of wine and mugs of ale, and now that she thought about it properly, she would need to move to another corner of the room if she wished to avoid them before they began to get really tipsy. They were always flirting with her – and badly, too. There was no telling how awful they would be once they were good and drunk.

She skirted around a group of twittering ladies and behind a couple of old gentlemen who were arguing over the cold, rainy weather, and she sighed when she finally reached the dimly lit corner she had been seeking. It would do no good to continue daydreaming about Caer Dallben – Taran wouldn't be there even if _she_ was, and she was just as well off with a room full of Mona's fluttering nobility if she couldn't be with Taran. She wished Gwydion could have visited the island for the Yuletide festivities, but undoubtedly the Sons of Don would celebrate the season at Caer Dathyl. She wondered briefly what such a scene would be. She could just envision the Great Hall there, lined with mountain firs and bright holly berries and a feast fit only for a prince such as Gwydion himself. There would be music and merry laughter, nothing like the false giggles and loud chortles of the ladies and men here. It was probably snowing, too – soft, powdery snow instead of the drizzling, cold rain they were having on Mona.

Even though she had just mentally told herself that it would do no good to daydream, she slipped into one just the same. How lovely it would have been if she and Taran could have visited Caer Dathyl together this winter! They could have sat by the fire, roasting chestnuts and having a grand time. Oh, he would have irritated her to some extent; he always did, intentionally or not. And she would huff and show her annoyance, and he would stammer over some silly apology without actually understanding what it was he'd done to irritate her in the first place, and Gwydion would chuckle and leave them to it. If only Dallben hadn't insisted that she come _here_ instead, to learn to be a proper lady...! Rubbish and nonsense, that's what it was, and she was really quite sick of it...

"Isn't this grand, Princess?" The voice broke through her daydream in a most unwelcome way. "I haven't had such a good time since... since... Well, I'm not sure since when, but it's been quite a long time, I do know that! I do hope you're enjoying yourself?"

Eilonwy inwardly grimaced, but turned to look up at Prince Rhun, who had appeared at her right side from seemingly nowhere, smiling boyishly and looking quite dashing (as some of the younger ladies had noted) in royal blue trimmed with gold. Incidentally, Queen Teleria had tried to get Eilonwy to dress in the same colors for the evening, which Eilonwy had flatly refused to do. She knew perfectly well _why_ the woman wanted her to mimic Rhun's attire tonight, and she just couldn't make herself comply. A matching set, as it were. The Queen was desperate to arrange a marriage between her son and the only living descendant of the House of Llyr, and it nettled Eilonwy to no end. So, as soon as her maids had dressed her and bowed themselves out, Eilonwy had taken the liberty of changing her blue and gold dress for a dark green one that matched Taran's eyes instead. It was more fitting for the season anyway, and it was well worth the look of horror and surprise on Teleria's face when she entered the Great Hall for the evening.

Still, it was Teleria's wish that she wed Rhun, and not necessarily the Prince's. Rhun, bless him, was really just caught in the middle, and he didn't deserve Eilonwy's annoyance.

So she shrugged slightly at his question, and answered, "It's much different than what I'm accustomed to, but it is nice nonetheless."

He smiled brightly. "The tree is nearly thirty feet tall this year! Last year it was only twenty-four, and mother was determined it should be grander than last year. It took forty men to haul it in!" His grin faded a bit, and his brow furrowed. "But what I _don't_ understand is how it doesn't alight on fire with all those candles about it. I've never understood that, really. Are the flames too small? Or are the needles too damp and therefore..."

Eilonwy sighed inwardly as he went on. Rhun was nice enough, but sometimes he could be a bit dull. Taran, at least, wouldn't be asking if the tree should or shouldn't catch on fire. He'd be chopping firewood out in the yard, or checking on Hen to see that she was warm enough, or tending to the winter vegetables with Coll...

"We should have desserts soon," Rhun went on, changing topics as he was typically wont to do. "I heard the cooks were going to make a delicious array of cakes and puddings. I can't wait to try them! Mother thought it would be nice if they served them later this evening instead of right after dinner, to give people the chance to..."

Eilonwy's mind drifted yet again, and she wondered where Taran was right now. She hoped he had found someplace nice to celebrate the Yule season, though she would be highly annoyed if he had gone to Caer Dathyl without her. Caw's only visit to her thus far had been completely unexpected, and if she had briefly hoped for a pleasant conversation with the crow when he first surprised her and flew through her open window two months earlier, she most certainly didn't receive one. Rather, the discussion was rather one-sided and incredibly vexing; all she could gather from Caw was "_Taran, Gone!_" and "_Traveling!_", and she hadn't been able to make the first bit of sense out of it. Why on earth would Taran leave Caer Dallben? Surely she would have heard if something had happened... If Arawn had attacked openly, the news would reach Mona, and she had heard nothing out of the ordinary in the court gossip regarding the mainland.

But perhaps Taran was simply restless and bored. It wouldn't surprise her for him to take off simply for the sake of adventure, for there were many days at Mona Castle in which she wished she could do the same thing. Regardless, she most certainly hoped that he wasn't stuck out in the snow, struggling through deep drifts, freezing, trying to stay warm or fed, while she was both. She shivered again, her heart sinking slightly. Heavens, but she had no idea where he was _at all_. Caw hadn't told her where Taran was traveling _too_, just that he was traveling. _He_ really _could_ be out in the snow, freezing and...and...Oh, _Llyr_, what if he was _dying_...?

"Are you cold, Princess?"

"W-What?" she stammered, refocusing quickly on her surroundings. She realized she must have shivered noticeably. "Oh... no... I'm fine...!"

It struck her suddenly how gaudy and garish the party was, and she felt as though she were underwater, unable to breathe properly. What on earth was she doing here when Taran could be _anywhere_?

Rhun looked unconvinced that she was "fine", but didn't have time to offer her a wrap to ward off any chill. For without warning, his mother appeared in front of them, looking quite pleased to find them together, and not noticing Eilonwy's discomfort or panic in the very least.

"Oh! But you two make such a lovely pair!" she twittered loudly. At the same time, her mouth pulled downward into a pout. "Though I do wish you had worn the blue dress tonight, Eilonwy, dear. It would bring out your eyes so much nicer than that dull, dark, bland green."

Eilonwy bit the inside of her lip. Normally, she would have some sort of snappish remark to such a slight, but as this was the Queen's affair and she was a guest at Mona castle, she would need to try and be polite. So she said, "I prefer the green myself, thank you. It's more festive for Yuletide, I think. But the blue does look very nice on Prince Rhun."

"Oh yes, Rhun always looks best in blue," Teleria gushed, smiling at her son. "But that wasn't actually why I came over. I noticed from across the room that the two of you were standing beneath the _mistletoe_! You've been standing here for at least five minutes and haven't even noticed, and that simply _won't_ do."

Eilonwy tensed and instinctively looked upwards, hoping against hope that the woman was jesting. But _no_ – to her immense horror, a tiny ball of shiny green leaves and white berries dangled a few feet over her head.

_Llyr_, how could she have been so _stupid_? How had she not _seen_? Her only consolation was that Rhun looked every bit as surprised as she felt.

"Now go on," Teleria insisted, her voice carrying. "You must kiss! It's tradition after all!"

Eilonwy felt momentarily sick. She most certainly did not want to kiss Prince Rhun, and yet she couldn't quite manage to get the words out. Next to her, Rhun fidgeted and blushed furiously.

Several other guests had turned around and were pointing at them; a few ladies were giggling insipidly while a few men were encouraging them in loud, laughing tones.

"I suppose we must," Rhun said, stumbling over the words as he turned to face her.

"Eilonwy, dear, go on!" Teleria beamed at her. "I imagine you've been wanting to kiss him all evening, haven't you? And who wouldn't? He does look so dashing and handsome!"

Behind the Queen, a gaggle of young ladies were whispering and pointing at them; some looked giddy, while others looked put out that they weren't the ones to get caught beneath the mistletoe with Prince Rhun.

Eilonwy bit the inside of her lip even harder. No, she most certainly _didn't_ want to kiss Rhun. But too many people were watching, and when she turned, she found that Rhun had stepped very close to her, and she felt suddenly cold and numb as the blood rushed away from her extremities. He bent down and Eilonwy instantly closed her eyes and tried not to grimace; she felt his lips brush hers chastely.

It was odd. Off. _Wrong_.

She did _not_ kiss him back.

However, Teleria fortunately seemed satisfied – the hall broke into loud laughter and smattered applause before the other guests resumed their prior activities. Someone grabbed the Queen's attention for a few seconds and, face burning, Eilonwy looked towards the door again, desperate to escape.

She heard Rhun mutter, "I am sorry, I do wish she isn't quite the way she is about things. Still... It was very nice, Princess. And you are always very beautiful, so I do thank you for the chance to..."

She forced herself to say something about having a bit of a headache and wanting to lie down, and before he could stop her, she slipped through the crowd and out of the Great Hall, up the nearest flight of stairs, and bolted down the next corridor. She took several smaller, tighter staircases to outdistance herself from the party and keep Rhun from finding her too quickly, and when she finally reached her room, she bolted the door shut and pressed the heels of her palms to her damp eyes.

_Llyr, how awful_. What was done was done, and there was no changing it, but it was really wretched. Bloody mistletoe! And whose idea had it been anyways, to start such a silly tradition?

She sniffed ruefully and dropped her hands to her sides. The only decent thing was, she hadn't felt _anything at all_ – not that she expected to or wanted to. Kissing Rhun was as dull as his conversation so often was, as boring as sitting around for hours doing embroidery work, as meaningless as listening to Teleria complain about the fact that she'd worn green instead of blue. Worse, poor Rhun hadn't any idea how to go about kissing either, for just pressing lips together wasn't quite the way to do it. She might be as inexperienced as he was, but she did know _that_ much.

She pushed away from the door and collapsed in a large, comfortable chair by the fire in her hearth (likely stirred by her maids, for when she returned from the party), curled her feet under her, and rested her head on the arm of the chair. A memory floated in front of her and she indulged in it a bit, if only to make herself feel slightly better. After all, memories were all she had right now, it seemed.

Last Yule, at Caer Dallben, had been the first time she had learned of the wretched little plant. Coll had brought in a sprig of it and had told her all about the tradition. How his wife had put a bit over the threshold the one Yule they shared together and how they couldn't seem to stay out from under the door lintel! It was a wonder they were able to get any work done about the farm that winter! He had then hung the sprig from the top of the door into the main room of the cottage, and an hour later when Dallben stepped out of his chamber from a 'bout of mediation, the old man had taken one look at it and his expression had turned sour.

"What is _that_ doing _here_?" he'd demanded in a curt, sharp voice.

Coll _–_ his pate ruddy from cold _–_ had just entered the main room. He dumped a load of firewood next to the hearth and responded to Dallben's question with the same explanation he'd given Eilonwy.

Dallben had been most displeased, for some reason. In an agitated manner, he'd snapped, "Yes yes, I know _exactly_ what you were thinking and why you put it there. Take it down and get rid of it. It's a parasitic vine that chokes out healthy trees, and you would be wise to remember that and cut it back in the spring before it takes over the orchard." Without another word, he'd gone back inside his chambers, and closed the door with a resounding thud.

Coll had sighed and shaken his head. "Sometimes," he muttered, "I do think he was _born_ old. Ah well, I'll take it down after I finish chopping and bringing in the wood. Won't hurt to leave it there for a bit while he meditates some more. Not like it's doing any real harm." And he'd retreated back outside, leaving Eilonwy slightly confused.

What on earth had Dallben meant, anyways? The old man was indeed a mystery, sometimes. It was quite pretty over the door, she thought.

Taran had brought in the next load, his face flushed and his hair windblown. He didn't even notice the plant until Eilonwy commented about it.

"I don't understand Dallben," she had confessed curiously, while staring up at the innocent green leaves and white berries.

"Neither do I," was the short response. She could hear him stacking the wood properly, the heavy logs clinking together as he did so.

"Coll only wanted to bring a bit of cheer in," she mused. "But Dallben said Coll had another reason for hanging it there and for him to remove it immediately."

"What _are_ you talking about?" Taran had asked, his voice exasperated. He straightened up and brushed his hands off, and followed her gaze. "That?"

"Yes, _that_. Coll was telling me all about it, earlier. We never had anything like it at Spiral Castle; Achren would never have allowed it. She didn't even celebrate Yule! It was really quite dreary, I never knew about Yule until after I came here and –"

He cut her off. "So why doesn't Dallben like it?"

"He said it was a parasitic plant that choked out healthy trees."

"Oh. Well, it is."

"I _know_ that. But it isn't as though a small piece of it will take over the cottage, after all. I think Dallben hates the tradition more than the plant, for some reason. About how you're supposed to kiss when you stand under it."

Taran looked visibly startled at the words, and she couldn't help smiling at his bewildered expression. "I suppose Coll was thinking about us. Maybe that's why Dallben disapproved, though I really don't know why he would be bothered. It isn't as if _–_"

"_Us_?"

"Well, yes. You don't think Coll would want to kiss _me_ under it, do you? But it doesn't matter one way or the other. Coll's going to take it down in a bit. Dallben won't let it stay there, he's already said so."

She had started to head back towards the scullery then, supposing she'd best finish cooking dinner, but as she had passed under the plant, Taran grabbed her wrist.

When she turned to look at him, it was to discover that his brow was knitted together in thought. "Who came up with the tradition? That two people should kiss under a poisonous plant at Yule? That's a bit odd. I mean –"

"Goodness, but I don't know!" she'd cried, quite nettled with him and, at the same time, not certain _why_ she was. It was surprising how gentle his fingers were around her wrist, when moments ago he had hauled in a load of wood with strong arms. She could feel heat creeping up her neck and face. "Ask Coll! He was the one who told _me_ about it! I'm sure I don't know!"

"After all, the birds won't eat it because –"

"I _know_ it's poisonous! I know it sounds like a stupid idea! Coll just thought it would be pretty there, to brighten things up a bit! Oh, never mind! Heavens, Taran, I have to finish dinner." She'd tried to wrench her wrist free, but he didn't let go.

When she turned to argue, to tell him he was being a right brute about everything, she caught a quick glimpse of his expression: Determined. And before she could speak, he had leaned in and kissed her as fast as lightening on the corner of her mouth and partially on her cheek, then quickly released her wrist, diverted his eyes, and darted outside again to grab another load of firewood.

And Eilonwy had stood there, frozen beneath the door, and touched the corner of her mouth. His lips had been slightly damp and had tingled against her skin. Her heart felt as though it might burst through her chest it was beating so hard, and she could barely breathe. Then, with a jolt, she had remembered to move. She had to get back to the scullery before he came back inside, or else he'd think she wanted _another_ kiss!

Blushing furiously, she'd hurried back to the kitchen and hadn't come out again until dinner – at which time, Dallben had glanced critically at the empty door lintel and commented, "Good. Please refrain from bringing anymore of that inside, Coll. We have enough to worry about as it is, without adding such nonsense to things."

Both Taran and Eilonwy had refused to meet anyone's eyes, least of all each other's. The next day, things were slightly back to normal, and by the end of the week, they had both silently agreed not to mention it at all. But it wasn't forgotten – _Llyr_, she would _never_ forget.

She suddenly sniffed and realized she was crying uncontrollably. Blinking back tears, she wiped them away on her sleeves and curled up tighter in the chair. What a miserable Yule it was this year, she thought sadly. Stuck on an island without Taran, and with a Prince she would never be remotely interested in, whose overbearing mother wanted her for a daughter-in-law and had forced her to kiss Rhun in front of a room full of people she didn't care about.

At that moment, Eilonwy was certain she had never felt so wretched in all her life.


End file.
